


Charmed One-shots

by nomwrites



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, I ship these two SO HARD, Pre-Relationship, taking liberties with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomwrites/pseuds/nomwrites
Summary: AUs, tags, crossovers, whatever comes to mind. One-shots.





	Charmed One-shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's family are concerned about him. He is uncooperative.

“I’ve got a question,” Macy says, squinting a little as she carefully digs out another shard of black glass from Harry’s hand. She’s using a tweezer to do it, but early on Harry had proposed that Macy use the opportunity to practice fine control of her telekinesis, musing like the endearingly oblivious idiot he can be sometimes that it would be interesting to watch. He’d been shot down immediately, three to one.

 

No. Four to one. 

 

Macy flicks a glance at their guest, lips pursing minutely before she turns back to her task. 

 

The atmosphere in the house always feels slightly off with Charity Callahan around, like an unstable substance has been added to a perfect solution. The fact that she was friends with their mother and knows more about their family history than they do is off-putting. The fact that she and Harry were together once upon a time is complicated and awkward, even if everyone pretends it isn’t. And it’s not just because Macy’s—

 

It isn’t just because of her personal feelings. Being objective isn’t always easy, even with her background as a scientist, but questions and doubts about the Elders have been blossoming for a while now, and Macy knows her sisters share them. Harry’s not on board, yet, at least not completely. But they know that when push comes to shove, Harry will stand with them to the end — stalwart and true, the way he’s been from the beginning, even when they hadn’t known yet whether they could trust him or not.

 

“A question for me?” Charity asks, sipping delicately at the tea she’s been drinking in their kitchen for the past fifteen minutes. Why she’s extending her visit past the resolution of the magical crisis of the week, no one knows. Even Harry had looked at her askance, as bewildered as the rest of them. 

 

But Charity had blithely sat herself down when she should have been seeing herself out the door — or portaling out — and before any of them could ask her to leave, had gone straight for the jugular by asking for tea within Harry’s hearing. Painfully English manners had prevailed, but they’d at least managed to push him into a chair, citing his injured hand, and let Charity serve herself. To her credit, she’d made tea for the rest of them as well. 

 

It hadn’t taken long for Mel to start making increasingly unsubtle comments about her leaving, to which Charity had simply sat drinking, regal and calm, completely unbothered. 

 

But her sister seems to be done with subtlety because Mel adds, light and sweet, “Does it have anything to do with people overstaying their welcome?” 

 

Harry sighs, but says nothing. Macy pulls his hand closer to hide the smile tugging at her mouth. 

 

“Does it?” Charity inquires, patient and unruffled. The closest Macy’s ever seen Charity express actual human emotion was when Harry had been stuck in Tartarus and even then it had only been visible for a moment, glimpsed under an otherwise unyielding layer of rigid poise. 

 

Harry tugs his hand lightly, nowhere close to slipping out of Macy’s grip, but it makes her realize she’s holding on too tight. 

 

She loosens her fingers and squeezes his hand gently in apology. “Actually, the question is for you and Harry.”

 

Harry and Charity exchange a look, eyebrows raised, but if they feel any wariness they don’t show it, turning to Macy expectantly with identically composed faces. Between them is a breadth of knowledge and experience that Macy envies, for various reasons. 

 

At some point in the future — once she’s worked up enough courage to do it — she wants to address the most important one.

 

But for now:

 

“Why can’t Whitelighters heal their own injuries?

 

There’s a beat before she gets an answer. If anymore looks are exchanged between anyone, Macy doesn’t see it. One last piece of glass — they’re shaped like thorns because of course they are — is deep in Harry’s hand, the protruding sliver too slippery for the tweezer to grab hold. 

 

“They can, technically,” Charity answers, adding the last bit like an afterthought. 

 

“Technically?”

 

“Self-healing falls under personal gain so it’s usually frowned upon.”

 

“You gotta be kidding,” Mel scoffs. “Personal gain is using magic for frivolous and selfish things. Harry healing injuries he got from protecting us or fighting demons doesn’t fall under that. That’s bull—”

 

“Ah, but Mel,” Harry interjects. “You must remember, Whitelighters heal much faster than mortals or witches. And we heal completely in most cases. With almost no threat to life, magical healing is superfluous.”

 

“ _Almost_ no threat to life? What does that mean?”

 

“It means that unless I die instantly, there’s always a chance for recovery,” Harry answers cheerfully. 

 

“With one exception.” For the first time tonight, there’s true gravity in Charity’s voice, casting a shadow over the room.

 

But Harry’s reply is swift and as close to dismissive as he ever comes in response to an Elder’s pronouncement. “An irrelevant exception. Darklighters are bound to the netherworld. They won’t be getting out for the next thousand years at least.”

 

“The stars willing,” Charity intones. An ominous pause. “But it’s been a year for unforeseen events.”

 

This time Macy knows without a doubt that looks are being exchanged. She sighs, and despite the concern blooming in her chest at this new threat, irritation and another emotion that she refuses to admit to drives her to say, “We’re getting off topic—”

 

“No, hold on,” Mel interrupts. “You’ve never mentioned Darklighters before. Either of you.”

 

The hand in Macy’s hold moves just a little bit as Harry shrugs. She bites back the urge to growl at him when what little purchase she’s managed to gain with the stubborn sliver slips out of her grasp. “Because, as I said, they’re currently irrelevant.” He pauses and Macy feels his gaze alight on her. “And off topic. We’ll discuss it later, I promise. Back to the point — healing is both a privilege and a sacred blessing. Literally. As it currently stands, Whitelighters have no true need for magical healing. To use it on ourselves would be abuse of power and go against the very purpose of our existence.”

 

“What?” Maggie hasn’t looked up from furiously texting on her phone for the last fifteen minutes so Macy’s been assuming that her youngest sister isn’t paying attention. She shouldn’t have doubted her. The careful _clack_ of Maggie’s phone being placed on the dining table is distinctive; Macy can’t count the number of times Harry and Mel have told her to put it down during breakfast. “Sorry, Har, but that is — to quote Mel — bullshit.”

 

Mel snorts and Harry’s hand twitches as Macy’s huff of laughter blows warm air over his skin. Taking a deep, head-clearing breath, Macy fervently thanks the fact that Maggie is sitting on the other side of the table, too far away to read her mind.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Harry says, full of British indignation.

 

“I had a cut on my cheek the first time you healed me,” Maggie says, as if declaring something obvious. Amusement and pride runs through Macy, quick and refreshing, because Maggie — for all that an outsider would look at her and see only a shallow sorority girl — always has a firm grasp of what’s important. It’s not the first time Macy has had the thought that out of the three of them, Maggie’s gift suits her the most. 

 

“I remember.”

 

“Did you have to do it?”

 

“Heal you?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Of course,” Harry answers, as simply as if it was a question of whether he liked tea or not. An unequivocal fact. “You’re my charge.”

 

Maggie laughs. “Oh, Harry,” she says, voice full of affection. “That’s not what I meant. Did the cut need to be healed? Was it necessary?”

 

“I… suppose not. In the strictest sense, at least,” Harry answers. “But— 

 

“Right,” Maggie says, triumphantly. “Mel?”

 

“I had mild burns from Hellfire when I rescued Niko from Trip’s cabin,” Mel recounts gamely, despite an echo of pain lingering in her voice. Macy’s heart goes out to her, as it always does, in these moments. “We were headed to the hospital but you still healed me.”

 

Harry doesn’t say anything this time. For all his lack of self-preservation, even Harry has to see where they’re heading.

 

Macy takes her turn, putting the tweezer down for a moment so Harry can see how serious she is. There’s no reason to keep holding Harry’s hand while she’s not working on it, but she doesn’t let go and Harry doesn’t pull away. Macy isn’t sure whether he’s too distracted to notice or if he simply doesn’t mind. Important and irrelevant at once. She starts speaking, “A scrape on my forehead. Mild ankle sprain. Shallow cuts from goblin claws. A bloody nose. A bruise on my cheek. A split lip—”

 

“Yes,” Harry cuts in, expression tight. “Alright.”

 

“Those are just within the last six months. I can keep going.”

 

“I get your point.”

 

“Good.” 

 

“But you don’t get mine.”

 

“Then please, Harry, elaborate,” Mel growls, clearly annoyed.

 

“It’s really quite simple — I am your Whitelighter and you are my charges,” Harry states, clipped and low, with the fervent conviction of a man who believes that what he’s saying is the most basic truth. “Your care, whatever that may entail, is _my_ prerogative. By the very power that created me, I am given exemption to use magic in aid of my charges in whatever way I see fit. That exemption, however, does not extend to me. And rightly so. Whitelighters are tools created to aid—”

 

The explosion of sound that follows — protests, invectives, scowling arguments — is so abruptly cut off and transformed into helpless and furious silence that it could only have been achieved through magical means.

 

Across the table, there is the sound of clinking porcelain and an aggravated sigh. “This discussion is becoming annoyingly circuitous,” Charity says, a ringing authority hardening her words to a fine point. She doesn’t seem particularly compelled by the discussion. Macy wonders if she even cares, if this has ever bothered her. “Girls, you have to accept that some things are simply the way they are. Millenia has proved that this is one of them.”

 

Macy clenches her jaw, shaking her head as she picks the tweezer back up.

 

“Release them, please,” Harry says quietly.

 

Charity glances at Harry, something unreadable flashing across her eyes before she makes an elegant little gesture with her mouth.

 

“Stop doing that! And if you think—”

 

“Are you seriously using tradition—”

 

“How sweet,” Charity declares, easily talking over Maggie and Mel’s combined anger. There’s sincerity in her voice. And amusement. Macy knows without looking that both of her sisters are glaring at Charity. “They really do love you, don’t they?”

 

Macy slams the tweezer back down on the table. Loudly. It’s as effective a demand of silence as any magical counterpart. Ignoring the uncomfortable weight of several eyes on her, she takes a deep breath, bringing Harry’s hand closer, and focuses hard, the way she might in a life or death situation. It takes a while; too long because hurting Harry over this, no matter how negligible the pain, defeats the point, and Harry’s intake of breath is almost too distracting — but millimetre by millimetre she nudges the sinister little piece of black glass out from under his skin with her mind. It hovers in the air for a moment, its hooked branches glinting with an oily sheen in the light, before she lets it fall into the blessed coffee can they’d chosen to use to seal the rest of the shards.

 

“Well done,” Harry says, a breathless quality to his voice. She looks up into his beaming face, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. “Thank you.”

 

Macy knows it’s dangerous to indulge the warmth blossoming in her chest, especially with Charity right across the table from her — _with an Elder staring right at her_ — but she smiles back at Harry nonetheless. “You’re welcome.” She winds a bandage around his hand, easy and competent work after a year of experience, and finally lets go. 

 

“I guess that’s the answer then,” Maggie declares, grinning. Macy catches the secretive little smile she exchanges with Mel, but it’s gleeful mischief that’s sparkling in her eyes when she turns back. “If Harry can’t heal himself, then we’ll just have to help him along.”

 

“Right. Magical first aid,” Mel concurs, mouth set in a challenging smirk.

 

Harry’s mouth drops open, eyes going round with alarm. “Absolutely not. You can’t—”

 

“It’ll be good practice,” Macy says, echoing Harry’s words from earlier. She smiles unrepentantly when Harry raises his eyebrows at her in betrayed disbelief.

 

“Exactly,” Maggie says, nodding enthusiastically. She turns to Charity. “That’s not against the rules, right?”

 

The corners of Charity’s mouth are tight when she eventually answers. “It’s… certainly treading a fine line.”

 

“But not against the rules, right?” Maggie asks again, undeterred.

 

Charity’s mouth flattens into a severe line and for a moment, Macy thinks they’ve pushed too far, flaunted their willingness to creatively interpret the rules a little too much. Their guest, after all, is an Elder and Macy and her sisters have been toeing the line from day one. 

 

But Charity’s odd mood continues — an unexpected chuckle escapes the tight press of her lips, breaking the tension in the room. “No, Maggie,” Charity replies, shaking her head with an exasperated air. “It’s not against the rules.”

 

Macy mouth falls open.

 

“Ha!” Maggie pumps her fist victoriously. “Well, Har, you heard her.”

 

“Anymore ridiculous protests?” Mel grins, arms smugly crossed. “Maybe we should ask old Lizzie too. Come on, maybe she’ll let us meet her corgies.”

 

But Harry doesn’t take the bait, occupied with staring at Charity, a bewildered expression knotting his brow. “I’m sorry but what just happened?”

 

“When they’re right, they’re right,” Charity answers easily, mouth quirking with an amused little smile. “Now, as… _interesting_ as this little discussion has been, I’m afraid it’s time for me to take my leave.”

 

 _Finally_ , Mel mouths silently across the table, echoing Macy’s thoughts.

 

“Thank you for the tea,” Charity says, pushing her chair back as she stands—and wavers on her feet. The moment passes so quickly that Macy would almost believe she’s imagined it except Mel throws out a hand to catch Charity by the elbow and says, “Woah. You okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” Charity assures, gently but firmly pulling her elbow out of Mel’s grip, steady once again. “Harry, would you mind walking me to the car, please?”

 

 _Car?_

 

“Not at all,” Harry says, frowning in concern. He’d reacted at the same time as Mel had, shooting up to his feet and walking around the table immediately. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“Quite,” Charity replies, tone brooking no arguments. Macy expects her to take Harry’s gallantly offered arm, but she shakes her head and merely pats his elbow once before sweeping towards the front door. Harry drops his arm, keeping pace with her instead. “A good night’s sleep is all I need. Have a good evening, girls.”

 

“You too. Bye!” Maggie bids her cheerfully, phone in hand once again. It takes no time at all for her to be engrossed in whatever she’s reading on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard as she sends her replies.

 

“Yeah,” Mel mutters, not bothering to watch Charity go. “Bye.”

 

“Wait,” Macy calls out, gratified when Harry immediately stops. Charity is a little slower to react but she pauses all the same, looking back with a tolerantly curious expression. “You’re not portaling out?”

 

“I have a business meeting nearby.”

 

“It’s pretty late.”

 

“Global economy,” Charity says, inclining her head at Macy with something like finality before turning away. “Have a good evening, Macy.”

 

“Yeah. Have a good evening.”

 

Harry throws her a questioning glance over his shoulder, but Macy only smiles, shaking her head. She watches them go and waits for the sound of the door closing.

 

“What’s up?” Mel asks, quick on the uptake.

 

Macy frowns. “That was weird, right?”

 

“Which part? Charity overstaying her welcome like some psycho from a movie or Charity basically giving us her blessing to bend the rules?”

 

“Or having a car waiting outside the whole time?” Maggie adds, not looking up from her phone but clearly attentive. “I can count the number of times she’s hasn’t portaled out to leave on one hand and have five fingers left over.”

 

Macy doesn’t smile but it’s close. “All of the above.”

 

“The answer, sister, is yes. Like, weird A-F.”

 

“Agreed. Think Charity’s possessed or—” A loud, rumbling sound cuts Mel off. “Oops,” she says, laughing, cheeks a little red. “Sorry. I think that’s my stomach saying we should order pizza.”

 

“We can talk over dinner,” Macy agrees, grinning. 

 

“Did someone say something about dinner?” Harry asks, stepping back into the room. “I’m famished.”

 

“There was talk of pizza and the possibility of Charity being possessed.”

 

“Extra—”

 

“Mushrooms and extra cheese,” Mel interrupts. She waves her phone at Harry. “Already done.”

 

“You really do love me,” Harry says, grinning at Mel’s narrow-eyed glare. Taking his seat beside Macy again, he leans back thoughtfully, tapping his uninjured hand against the armrest. “And while I doubt Charity is possessed… Her behaviour tonight was unusual.”

 

“Should we be worried?” Macy asks.

 

“Perhaps. It could be as she says, that she’s simply tired. But it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. As always, we must—”

 

“ _Be vigilant_ ,” three voices intone simultaneously, mirth blending agreeably with solemn promise.

 

Macy’s glad that Charity’s not here to see the expression on Harry’s face. The depth of his fondness for them would be impossible to hide now, too bright and too obvious.

 

“Just so,” Harry says, satisfaction thrumming like a clear note in his voice. He mulls something over for a moment, a shadow dimming his expression.“She said something to me when I was seeing her into the car.”

 

“What?”

 

“‘Trust will be hard to come by in the coming days. Don’t lose sight of your priorities.’” Harry recites. “Charity’s words, verbatim.”

 

Maggie looks up. “That’s cryptic.”

 

“I asked her what she meant but she wouldn’t elaborate.”

 

Mel leans back, crossing her arms. “Is ‘your’ plural or singular?”

 

Harry shrugs, running a hand through his hair — a sure sign of unease. “I have no idea.”

 

“We’ll find out,” Macy declares, sure and confident. She has complete faith in this little family of theirs. They’ve proven themselves to each other and to their mission many times over. “Whatever it means, we’ll deal with it together.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Mel smirks. 

 

Maggie grins, phone on the table as she holds up two thumbs. “Go squad!” 

 

Harry simply smiles, warm and shadowless once more.

 

Macy smiles back, curling her fingers around the lingering warmth in her palm. 

 

————————

 

“It’s done,” Charity reports, slumped back against the cool leather of the car seat. “It took me the whole day to complete, but they won’t detect it.”

 

The compact mirror she’s using to confer with the Council is far too small, but it will do. 

 

“ _Are you sure?_ ” one of the faceless figures replies. The voice has been masked as well, but she’s known every single member of the Council for a while now — and this particular Elder’s petite silhouette is distinctive. It doesn’t matter. The security measures are formality anyway. 

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she bites off, too exhausted to bother with patience or grace. All the pretense she can muster has been spent at the Vera house. It had been a near thing at the end. “We’ll be alerted if she goes near that house or if she tries to contact Harry Greenwood.”

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” another faceless figure says. “ _You must be exhausted. Can you summon a portal back to your home?_ ”

 

“Unfortunately not. The spell took far more out of me than I was anticipating.”

 

“ _We’ll send someone to fetch you then. Find somewhere discreet to depart from._ ”

 

“I’ll be waiting.”

 

“ _Elder Callahan_ ,” the first speaker calls before Charity can close the mirror. “ _How certain are you that she hasn’t made contact with them yet?_ ”

 

“Absolutely certain,” Charity replies, voice dripping with ice. “I watched them the whole day. The Charmed Ones aren’t very good at keeping secrets and Harry… if Fiona has contacted him, believe me, we’d know. We broke a sacred oath and made him believe his charge was dead. He won’t be quiet about that. Especially not to me.”

 

“ _It was necessary._ ”

 

“Yes,” Charity sighs, exhaustion and heartache threatening to bury her under. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been having trouble with a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for this fandom and decided I had to post SOMETHING before I went crazy. So this came out.
> 
> I have so many questions about Whitelighters and how they work. We don't even know if Harry is invulnerable to most mortal dangers the way Leo was in the old show. The writers need to slow down and build their world more. 
> 
> Also, I really hope Harry hasn't been lying to Mel about what happened with Fiona. I can't wait for that particular plotline.


End file.
